


What Makes A Father

by VanessaWolfsbane



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Big Brothers, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 23:06:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanessaWolfsbane/pseuds/VanessaWolfsbane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce has trouble disciplining Damian, and is forced to call in reinforcements.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Makes A Father

It was 3:30 in the morning, and the so-called Dynamic Duo were just returning from a rough mission in stony silence. The only sounds echoing in the cave were the shrieking of the bats and the quiet hum of the cooling engine. Batman and Robin lingered in the Batmobile, tension palpable between the two, yet neither spoke for the longest time. Finally Bruce turned to his son, voice low and deadly.

"Grounded." Damian's face shifted from careful indifference to barely contained fury, his eyes narrowed beneath the mask.

"I think not." Bruce leaped out of the car, cape fluttering behind him.

"This is not up for debate." Yanking back his cowl, Bruce limped to the med bay and lowered himself onto an examination table. He removed his boots and slowly rolled up his left pant leg, wincing slightly as it stuck to the drying blood from the knife wound.

"I did nothing wrong," Damian argued, throwing himself onto the table opposite his father.

"You disobeyed a direct order that nearly got Tim killed!" bellowed the Bat. Damian did not flinch. Bruce clenched his teeth as he began cleaning out the bloody gash with peroxide.

"He could take care of himself. And if he couldn't, then he shouldn't have been allowed to fight." Bruce snapped his head up to glare at his son, ignoring the stinging pain in his leg.

"Grounded," he repeated through gritted teeth. Damian jumped up and glared back at Bruce with crossed arms.

"Repeating it won't make it so! I am not grounded because I did nothing wrong! You cannot ground me!"

"I can and I have," Bruce growled, enunciating every word. He removed a needle and thread from a first aid kit and began stitching up his wound.

"You can't and you have not!" Damian shouted. "I will do what I want! I need no approval from you!" With that echoing through the air, Damian stomped off toward the garage portion of the cave, which boasted all of Batman's various forms of transportation, including the boat and plane. Bruce tried to stand and follow him, but was quickly reminded that he was in the middle of tending his wound when the thread tugged painfully at his flesh. Before Bruce could finish and go after Damian, the boy flipped him the bird and disappeared with one of the motorcycles.

–

Dick was awakened from a deep sleep by an annoying ringing. He growled and rolled over, pulling the pillow over his head in a futile attempt to drown out the noise. After a long minute it finally stopped, and Dick breathed a sigh of relief. He had just begun to doze off again when it started back up. Dick screamed in frustration and pulled the pillow back beneath his face, reaching an arm out blindly for the phone. He managed to knock over a glass of water, his alarm clock, and the lamp before his fingers found the cellphone.

"Wha-" Dick slurred, eyes slipping closed even as he spoke.

"Dick," Bruce growled. Dick's eyes snapped open and he sat up, wide awake. "I need your help."

–

Nightwing raced into Gotham just before dawn, keeping one eye on the blinking dot on his GPS, just to make sure it hadn't moved. Damian, of course, would know about the tracer in the bike. Still Dick would check there first, on the off chance that he hadn't ditched it in an alley somewhere. On the off chance that Damian actually wanted to be found.

The Wingcycle skid into the alley behind one of Bruce Wayne's many skyscrapers. Gravel shot out from beneath the tires and the bike stuttered to a stop as a black boot dug into the ground. Removing his helmet, Nightwing glanced around, immediately locating the deserted R-Cycle behind a dumpster off to his right. Dick sighed. It had been worth a shot. He pulled out a grapple gun and swung himself up onto the roof. It was as good a place to start as any.

"Was Father not man enough to come himself?" Damian sneered before Dick's boots even touched the roof. Dick jumped and instinctively palmed a wing-ding. Seeing Damian sitting on the ledge of the roof, he returned the weapon to its compartment and sat down beside the boy.

"Bruce tries," Dick said simply. The clouds on the horizon were just beginning to turn a bluish gray with the coming dawn; Dick sighed and leaned back on his hands, kicking his feet against the wall. Damian snorted.

"What are you, six?" Dick shrugged and continued swinging his legs. "Look, you can go back and tell Father you talked to me. Tell him that I punched you, or that I cried like a pathetic child and begged for forgiveness. I don't care," Damian said bitterly. He stood and brushed off his pants before a hand gripped at his wrist and tugged him back down.

"Or we can actually talk." Damian glowered at Dick, but didn't move to get back up again. "What happened?" Damian crossed his arms and glared out at the city, his lips pursed in an almost-pout.

"Father tried to ground me when I did nothing wrong." Dick hummed and stared out at the sky.

"He says that you, and I quote," Dick's voice dropped into a very convincing Batman impersonation, his fingers curling into air quotes around the words. "'disobeyed a direct order that nearly got Tim killed.'" Damian growled and clenched a fist at his side.

"I saved his life." Dick turned to look at Damian, who was still glaring straight ahead, though his lip quivered ever so slightly.

"What happened?" Dick asked softly. Damian swallowed before speaking through gritted teeth.

"We were taking down gun runners at the Harbor. There were more thugs than there should have been. We were outnumbered ten to one. Father wanted to take down the leader while Red Robin and I handled the goons. It would have been smooth, but one man whom Father believed to have already been incapacitated snuck up behind him with a knife while Father was preoccupied with three other men. I left Red Robin to handle the group for a moment while I went after the coward. The knife would have gotten Father in his heart had I not tackled the man in time. As it was, it sliced deeply into his leg." Damian's words became more and more strained as the story went on. Dick winced. He knew all too well the good soldier that Damian was expected to be when working with Bruce. There is never a reason good enough to defy an order. Not even saving Bruce's life. Dick had learned that the hard way as well.

"Bruce would rather die with an obedient army than live with a disobedient one," Dick sighed wearily, eyes scanning the now pink horizon.

"But I am not just his soldier!" Damian shouted, jumping to his feet and turning his angry eyes to Dick. "I am his son! And I would rather be a disobedient soldier with a living father than an obedient soldier with a dead one. Again." Damian whispered the last word with watery eyes. Dick stared up at the young boy in shock. He had never seen his face so contorted with emotion, evident even through the mask.

"Have you told Bruce any of this?" Dick asked gently as he tugged the boy back down. Damian sat and sneered at Dick.

"Ttt, like I could speak to Father in such a manner. He is not like you, Grayson. He would not listen to me."

"Bruce would listen," Dick insisted. Damian shot him a disbelieving look before casting his eyes back out to the city beneath him.

"He would not," Damian whispered. "Father and I do not have the typical father-son relationship portrayed in your culture. We do not speak of such trivial things as emotions and insecurities. In fact, Grayson, I believe you are the only person I have ever spoken to of such things. And if you ever repeat them, I know thousands of ways to kill you. Thousands." Damian's voice dropped an octave as he shot Dick a deadly look. Dick grinned.

"Your secret's safe with me, Lil' D. No one will ever know you have a heart." Damian snorted and they both turned their eyes back to the cityscape, just in time to watch the first rays of sunlight break through the cloudy horizon and cast an orange glow across sky.

–

"That's it?" Bruce growled, pushing back his cowl and turning to glare at his eldest. "'Talk to him?' That's all you managed to come up with?" Dick was unfazed as he perched on the computer console, happily munching on a granola bar.

"Talk  _to_  him," Dick repeated, holding up a finger in warning. " _To_  him, not  _at_  him." Bruce grumbled and turned back to his computer.

"What good will talking to him do?" Dick snapped his fingers in front of Bruce's face to regain his attention.

"The boy needs a father, Bruce. You and I both know that a father is more than just blood." Bruce didn't speak, but his eyes were unfocused as he stared at the computer screen. "Yes, you two have the blood component, and that's swell, but he needs you to act like a father. You never quite managed that with me or Jay, though you got a bit better when Tim came along. But there was always the excuse that you weren't our actual father to cover up your shortcomings. You don't have that easy-out with Damian. You  _are_  his father, so you need to suck it up and act like it. He doesn't need more training, or tutoring, or patrolling. Screw Batman. Damian needs Bruce, his dad." Bruce scrubbed at his face before running his fingers through his thick black hair.

"What makes a father, Dick?" Bruce asked wearily. "In case you hadn't noticed, none of us actually have a father to base any of this off of." Dick placed a comforting hand on Bruce's shoulder. Bruce tensed at the contact.

"What makes a father, Bruce?" Dick repeated. "Ask yourself what makes Alfred so important to you, why you love the old man so much when he should be nothing more than a servant to you; what makes me and Jay and Tim come back to you time and time again, despite everything that's happened; what made you and Alfred take in a couple of orphans and raise them as your own. What makes a father is the love of a father. Everything else is gravy. You need to love the boy, Bruce. The rest will come." Bruce swallowed and looked up at his son with red-rimmed eyes.

"I do love him, Dick. He's my son. I just don't know what to do. He's so much like me that it's impossible. We can't help but clash." Bruce slammed a fist against the console before burying his face in his hands again. Dick smirked at his father.

"Don't you think that's something every father has to deal with? He needs you. He needs to see you making an effort to connect with him. You died, Bruce. He just got you back, and you almost died again tonight. He saved your life and didn't even get a thank you. That kind of thing was alright when I was Robin, but he's not me. You're his actual father. He already lost you once. Despite how he acts, he's still just a sad little boy with a big soft heart. Just like his father. Keep that in mind." With that, Dick left, revving his motorcycle and speeding out of the cave, praying that he had gotten through to at least one of them.


End file.
